


Pearls Before Swine

by BrightBlueBloodRed



Series: Charlie's Angels - Tidbits [2]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: Awkward Castiel (Supernatural), Castiel and Crowley (Supernatural) Work Together, Crowley and Castiel console each other, Crowley fed up of Dean Winchester, Drunk Crowley (Supernatural), M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-05-18
Updated: 2018-05-18
Packaged: 2019-05-08 18:18:46
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,306
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14699658
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/BrightBlueBloodRed/pseuds/BrightBlueBloodRed
Summary: Crowley is fed up of the Winchesters' crap. He wants Castiel to admit that he feels the same way. Set somewhere vaguely around s10, but not necessarily consistent with canon.~ I've just recently gotten into Supernatural and I ADORE these characters and really wish they had more screentime. I want to make this into a full work, following the Queen of Moondoor, the Angel of Thursday and the King of Hell as they leave the Winchesters and strike out on their own. For now I'll be posting little rambles and tidbits here. Likely to include Crowstiel and Charlie/any awesome woman in the vicinity, so don't read if that isn't your cup of tea :)





	Pearls Before Swine

“You called.” Castiel stood in the throne room of Hell, conspicuous amidst the clutter and general filth. He seemed to be lit by some other source than the murky torches and flickering candles, a surer, whiter radiance.

Crowley tilted his head back to regard the angel from heavy-lidded eyes. He was sprawled on the throne, sharp suit rumpled, whiskey chaser in hand and leg hooked over one armrest. A picture of obscene indolence. “I did.” His voice was slurred to an even deeper purr, the usual bite missing from the end of the sentence. “You came. Like a dog whipped to master’s heel.” He made a whip-crack sound, hissing between his teeth. “Wretched, isn’t it?”

Castiel’s scowl deepened, head tilting to one side. “You’re drunk.”

“’m not the King of abstinence darling.” A good portion of the whiskey in Crowley’s glass sloshed over as he drained it and tossed the tumbler aside. It shattered into the rest of the mess on the throne room floor, blood and bone and shredded parchment, broken things twisted into an ill-defined mass.

“I-“ Castiel made an uncertain gesture with one hand, then moved closer. Through Crowley’s blurred and fragmenting vision, he looked almost alarmed. Then it resolved into the usual expression of impatient contempt. “Why did you call me, Crowley?”

The long-suffering tone was familiar, a tolerance just close enough to affection for Crowley to cling to it. He raised his eyebrows, forcing a smirk. “What? No foreplay?”

Blue-eyed glare, hard as basalt.

“Of course not.” Crowley looked at the ground, casting about through the haze of alcohol for a way to say what he wanted – or more pertinently, to _get_ what he wanted. “It strikes me, angel, that you and I have perhaps… similar grievances to air around certain unnamed, flannel-wearing persons.” Eyes narrowed, he watched for the angel’s response. Castiel looked confused – a near-permanent state for that one. Crowley sighed. “They lied to me!” It came out harsh and uncontrolled. “Again! Every time I haul their arses out of the fire – and still, they lie to me, they cheat me, they threaten to kill me!” He was leaning forwards in the throne, hands stabbing towards his own chest with drunken emphasis. “Are they ever there for me when I have a little calamity brewing – no! All I get for my good faith is betrayal, and my demons – my own subjects – laughing at me behind my back because I got – _Winchestered!_ ” Spittle flew as Crowley’s self-control failed entirely. He stared at Castiel’s shifting silhouette for a few heartbeats, panting hard. When the angel merely stood there, Crowley slowly slumped back in his chair. “At least they ask about how Hell’s doing once in a while. But you? Castiel, how often have you bled for those ingrates?”

Cas made a sudden movement, jerky, as though he’d instinctively gone for his angel blade. Crowley’s temper turned in an instant to a sly smile.

“That’s right, kitten. A damn sight more times than I have – and yet do they ask about your problems?”

“They – Dean and Sam are busy. They have their own problems to deal with. I do not ask them to –“

“Oh please!” Crowley treated Cas to a somewhat slack-jawed sneer. “They let you wage a war on your own – they called you from the bloody battlefield to solve their petty issues, and never bothered to check whether you were – oh, I don’t know – deep in shady dealings with the King of Hell? Speaking as the demon in question, that was messed up.”

“Yes – and I betrayed them and destroyed the world.” The self-loathing in Cas’ tone wasn’t quite drowned by his anger. Crowley was unable to control a flinch, stung as he was every time Cas opened his mouth and let Dean Winchester tumble out. “Is it so remarkable if I do not wish to ask for yet more from my friends?”

“Cas…” Crowley raised a hand placatingly. “You became god and nearly destroyed the world, sure. Moose started the Apocalypse. Squirrel tortured souls for ten years down here. Not to mention the murder sprees, the broken hearts – my point is-“

Cas had started forwards again, about to speak, but Crowley cut him off.

“My point is. They use you, Castiel. They use me. We’re tools to them, weapons to summon up and then throw back into storage. Now, I know a goodly amount of what those feathered asses up there do to mooks like you – and I would’ve thought you’d recognise that tune.”

For a long moment, only the crackling of torches and drip of moisture could be heard.

“It’s – not the same.” Cas sounded weary, uncertain. “Dean – they both care about me. They wouldn’t control me.”

“Really?” Crowley’s tongue rested against his teeth. He could taste victory, some deep part of him yearning for Cas to admit it, to admit that he felt just as abused as Crowley did, to express the desire that Crowley couldn’t. The longing for friendship with those blasted morons, for camaraderie, recognition. Approval.

Again, an aimless hand movement. The trench-coated figure looked so lost, standing there in the filth, still radiant. Those stooped shoulders, the self-deprecating angle of his head. “I – yes. They would never hurt me.”

“Fine. Have it your way, giraffe.” Disappointment swirled into Crowley’s already black mood, and he leaned his head back against the hard frame of the throne, closing his eyes.

A rustle of fabric made him aware that Cas had come to stand beside the throne. Crowley cracked one eye, peering up at him. “What? Going to smite me for insulting your precious humans?”

Cas frowned, eyes scanning Crowley with enough intensity to make him uncomfortable, even past the shifting fuzziness of liquor. “What?”

“You are unhappy. You lash out because you feel vulnerable.”

Crowley snorted. “Angels – you always were terrible at reading people.”

“I have been… learning.”

Before Crowley could respond, Cas’ arms came down around him. For a moment he struggled like a startled cat, thinking Cas was attacking him, before realising that it was just the most awkward hug he’d ever received. The angel’s arms were stiff around him in a near-perfect circle, seeming to have sprouted extra joints for the sole purpose of jutting into him. Crowley reached up hesitantly to pat the trenchcoat sleeve. After longer than was strictly comfortable, Cas released him.

“Do you feel better?”

Crowley attempted to straighten himself, embarrassed to find that his head had leaned into Cas’ chest unbidden. “Well, you won’t be winning any hugger-of-the-year awards.”

Something closed behind Cas’ eyes, and Crowley cursed himself. “Oh – don’t take it like that, kitten.” Swaying, he hauled himself to his feet. “I could show you how to do it better, if you liked?” A smirk slid back onto his features. “You know what a good teacher I can be…”

Castiel hesitated, and for a moment they stood face-to-face, angel and demon, caught in the memory of their first abominable liason, when they sealed the deal that led to their year’s search for Purgatory and the unleashing of the Leviathan upon the world.

“It didn’t end perfectly last time I’ll admit, but what can I say? I’m willing to give it a second chance, if you are?”

“There is no ‘it’.” But Castiel’s eyes were hungry. He blinked rapidly, licking his permanently-chapped lips. “But – I would like to learn. How to hug. Humans make it look so easy, but I have found it to be an endless challenge. When should one initiate? How tight should one hold? What is the purpose of slapping each other’s backs?”

Crowley’s grin was pure sin. “Well then. I think we could clear up a few of those questions. What say you and I find somewhere nice and… private in which to practice?” A snap of the King’s fingers, and they were gone.


End file.
